


it's not a secret, baby, everybody saw us

by telracsactually



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Daddy Issues, Eventual Smut, M/M, Slow Build, canonverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telracsactually/pseuds/telracsactually
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It came easily, the way everything with Hinata seemed to. </p><p>There were nights when the air was hot and the bed sheets like wool dragging over his bare skin, and only images of Hinata broke through the storm in his belly, had him seeing clearly for the first time in what felt like ages. He could only accept that Hinata invaded his dreams, that he was enough to pull him out of his own skin on the nights he couldn’t sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friends Don't, But They Always Do

**Author's Note:**

> I think it took me two hours to decide on the title (which I already had, while I was writing, but I couldn't figure out if it was good or not), and then, hey, here it is. Please enjoy the first chapter. 
> 
> The title is a lyric from a Drake song, by the way.

Hinata was soaked with sweat. It trailed down his taut jawline, puddling underneath worn, tattered shoes. The warmth of it pooled in the small of his back. His fingers brushed the sweat-slick hair back against his crown, curled the strays behind his ear. He reset back into starting position. He breathed.

“One more time,” he demanded, voice like gravel. He shot the setter a heated glare before giving his coach a sharp nod. He rolled his shoulders, worked out the kink in his neck as Ukai reached for the last volleyball from the basket.

Ukai dribbled the ball, and Hinata felt the pounding of it in his chest, loud and thick, echoing in the tense quiet of the gymnasium. He flexed his fingers.

“Kageyama!” Ukai called out before he passed the ball, following Hinata’s run towards the net.

His old sneakers squeaked with every push. This time he would get it. This time he would—

The ball met Kageyama’s fingers.

Hinata swung his arms, bent his knees, and flew.

The boom was first; then the sight of the ball ricocheting off the opposite wall, the harsh _thud_ of Hinata’s ass landing on the hard floors, the proud smirk dancing on Kageyama’s lips.

Hinata rolled around until he caught sight of the last bounce. He leaned his body over to face his partner, chest rising and falling, boyish grin sending sparks through Kageyama’s body. Hinata was glowing.

“I want to do that again,” he laughed breathlessly, taking Kageyama’s outstretched hand and stumbling to his feet. He wiped at his cheeks, dusted pink, and hiked up courtesy of his vibrant smile.

“How about you try landing on your feet next time, stupid?” Kageyama gibed, watching the small flicks of hair kiss the other boy’s forehead. Hinata quickly swiped his hair back again, moving to retrieve the ball.

“Yeah, okay, I’d like to see you try,” he retorted, no real heat behind it. He tossed the ball back over to his coach, who caught it effortlessly. “How was that last one, Ukai-san?” Hinata proudly set his hands on his hips, “I nailed it, right?” He wriggled his eyebrows, earning himself a slap to the back of the head.

 Kageyama crossed his arms, ignoring the angry leer on Hinata’s face.  

“Yeah, you really stuck the landing on that one.” 

Hinata rubbed the aching spot and sent a half-hearted glare to his coach. “Your dad jokes need work,” he pouted.

“And so do your landings. You’re twisting your body enough to power the spike and blast through the blockers, but don’t forget you need to land. The last thing we need is you injured during a game.” Ukai crossed his arms, sighing at the expectant glimmer in Hinata’s eyes. “Nice spike, shorty, but don’t get too carried away. Kageyama, nice toss.”

Hinata bumped his shoulder against Kageyama’s arm and shot him a thumbs-up. “Yeah, not bad, Kageyama.”

“Don’t start.”

“Don’t start what—“  

The two jumped to attention when a sharp whistle rang too close for comfort.

“Let’s end your practice on a good note, boys? Clean up and get outta here.”

The boys needn’t be told twice—the two moved, Hinata off to find the mop, and Kageyama gathering all the stray volleyballs.

After the third-years graduated last year, Ennoshita suggested to experiment with a new training method—partnered practice held directly after or before team practice. The newly-voted team captain explained the shift of focus would allow players to work on their individual weaknesses, and develop in areas of desired growth. Since they’ve started, Ukai noted undeniable improvement—what usually required a moment of deliberation came naturally. Everyone seemed to be on the same wavelength; the team functioned like a well-oiled machine.

And the players were no longer ignorant of their mistakes. They noticed kinks otherwise invisible during practice, and learned from others they didn’t normally work with.

The sessions proved to be a necessity. It encouraged confidence where it was lacking. If it was possible for a team to become even more of a team, Karasuno was proof.

Each practice made them stronger, each session fortified trust—and to think that they could still only get even stronger.

Kageyama rolled the basket into the supply closet just as Hinata finished mopping up the floor. He stood in the threshold, watching Hinata hop towards him, skin radiant from the afterglow following him after every practice, lips pressed tightly because the heaviness of the mop probably strained his arm.

Kageyama held the door for him.

“Thank you,” Hinata sang, placing the mop by the rest of the cleaning supplies. He curled his fingers around the handle of the volleyball basket, and beamed. “I’ll wait for you outside. Want me to grab your stuff for you?”

Hinata’s altruism always had Kageyama casting a double take. He blinked, his cheeks warm. “Uh, yeah. You know how to—“

“Yes, I know your locker and combination, and I won’t break or steal anything.” He waved dismissively, toddling towards the door. “Can you just finish locking up? Ukai-san told me to tell you he had to leave early,” he said, fishing for the keys in his shorts. He tossed them to Kageyama.

“Got it. I’ll see you outside,” he nodded, trying to keep his eyes off the way Hinata swung his arms when he walked, how his shirt stuck to the sweat of his back and outlined his curves. He slapped his cheeks lightly, bringing himself out before he got in.

“Stop it,” he murmured, setting out to finish up.

His new _perspective_ on Hinata wasn’t something he could find a starting time for. It came easily, the way everything with Hinata seemed to. There were nights when the air was hot and the bed sheets like wool dragging over his bare skin, and only images of Hinata broke through the storm in his belly, had him seeing clearly for the first time in what felt like ages. He could only accept that Hinata invaded his dreams, that he was enough to pull him out of his own skin on the nights he couldn’t sleep.

His inability to date the change didn’t stop him from trying to figure out why it was even happening, though.

He’d stand at the sidelines whenever Hinata had practiced with Sugawara, eyes trained on the muscular legs that propelled him into the air. He’d shoved the warmness away, and called it pride.

He had an overwhelming sense of it whenever Hinata successfully spiked a ball, when his feet were fast enough to dodge the blockers, his hit sabotaging the Libero’s receive. He had considered the feeling—the one that came with finding someone who could spike his toss, the sense of belonging when Hinata said he would spike every one of his tosses. He had so much pride for someone he’d call a piece of shit on the daily.

Stranger still, Kageyama never found himself doubting the promises often spilling out from Hinata’s mouth. The words floated in the air, heavy in his ears, but unwavering. He had never had anyone lie on the palm of his hand, eyes closed and heart on their sleeve. The amount of trust Hinata bared both shook and moved him. Hinata’s eyes alone ignited a flame he hadn’t known was snuffed out.

Kageyama felt his stomach turn. He didn’t think he could ever gauge how deep his admiration for Hinata ran. His emotions were all mixed up. He once thought maybe he was confusing this weird, deep respect for something else, until one day Hinata jumped sideways and crashed into Kageyama’s body, and Kageyama, still confused by his own feelings and dazed from hitting his head on the floor, felt Hinata’s lips ghost over his neck, his sweet voice murmuring apologies into his ear, and the setter had turned a deep shade of red, excusing himself from practice to prevent further embarrassment.

Remembering the incident still sent uncomfortable shivers down his spine.

Hinata himself was a new issue entirely. He was exceptionally attentive to Kageyama’s mannerisms and preferences; milk box flavors were contingent on mood or time of day; skipping meals amped up his crankiness, and the only counter was double or triple the servings; and the grump in Kageyama’s perpetual scowl was easily swayed by light teasing, and if not by light teasing, then by the prospect of whatever he’d been craving that week. He never had to verbally express what he wanted in that respect—Hinata always seemed to know just what he needed.    

It got his heart beating harder. It made him want to run for hours on end.

Kageyama turned the key until he heard the hard ‘click’ of the lock, then shifted at the familiar sound of turning gears and folding grass.

“I’m back,” Hinata announced loudly, grinning when Kageyama flinched. “I got your bag! And I got the baby’s milk!”

“Asshole! Shut up already,” he threw the keys towards Hinata’s face, eye twitching when he easily caught them.

Hinata dangled the keys in front of him, the jingle knitting Kageyama’s brows closer still.

“You could have killed me,” he mock pouted. He dragged off the strap of the duffle bag hanging from his left shoulder, holding it out towards Kageyama. “Your bag,” he offered, holding back a laugh when it was all but snatched out of his hand, a grumbled ‘Thanks’ reaching his ears.

Hinata peered up at him, fingers wrapped around a small milk box. He held it towards him. “Want it?”

Kageyama’s gaze flickered between the milk box and the boy with the impish smile.

“Yeah,” he reached for it, pricking it from Hinata’s warm fingers, and placed it in his bag. “Thanks. I’ll drink it at home.”

“You didn’t even check the flavor.”

“I’d probably drink it anyway.”

Hinata hummed, “It was melon.”

This was exactly what Kageyama meant.

He swallowed, “Thank you, again.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s go.”  

Hinata maneuvered his bike and walked alongside him in companionable silence. Their late practices always had them tailing the moon. It hung high above their heads, bright but never heavy, never rushing them to part ways. The night sky had a calming effect on Kageyama, the shadows always sending thoughts firing around in his mind.

His eyes glided over Hinata’s form. He couldn’t help but reflect on the change in his teammate. In just a year, the two had aided in restoring the volleyball team’s lost reputation. Their rivalry was an incentive for growth, bringing them closer than farther apart. The duo shared tears of pain and of joy, suffered injuries in the spirit of the game, and formed a bond that served as a glue for the rest of the team. Their experiences cast an air of maturity around them, especially Hinata, and though he was still childish, still teasing and clumsy, he was no longer the same foolish boy from their first year.

Kageyama felt content in the calm hum of crickets in the dark, the whisper of rubber wheels rolling over concrete, the lazy way Hinata ambled on and breathed in the warm air blowing against his skin. Hinata, for as talkative as he was, never bit his nails when things got quiet between them. Kageyama couldn’t say he hated it. These intimate silences were blessings in disguise, allowing his eyes to drag over Hinata’s face, admiring the dip of his cupid’s bow, the pout of his lips.

He pulled up the image when the heat became far too much, imagined the softness of his mouth and would have to bite back a moan, shaking beneath the covers. The high would leave him catching his breath, and then the sudden guilt would come in waves. He’d feel dirty. Exploitive.

And it was wrong, he knew it was wrong. Friends shouldn’t think of each other that way.

And yet…

He was admiring the way his hair whipped this way and that when Hinata felt the heat of his stare and met him with a shy smile.

He moved his eyes away and stared at the dark road ahead.

“You think it’s too late to grab some pork buns?”

It took a few seconds for Kageyama to realize the question was directed at him. He shrugged, “Probably. I’m pretty sure there’s food waiting for us at home, though.”

“Oh, right.”

Kageyama heard Hinata murmur something. “Speak up, dumbass.”

“I said I don’t really want to go home right now,” he repeated, swerving his bike so he could walk a little closer to Kageyama. “I don’t know where else to go though. You think Suga’s still working?”

Kageyama spared him a blank stare. “That’s about an extra twenty minutes, not including the time it would take us to get home,” he reasoned. “I’m also without transportation.” He never liked denying Hinata, but sometimes he didn’t have a choice.

“Yeah, but—blah.” Hinata heaved a sigh, “Whatever. I can’t go to your house?”

“Not tonight,” Kageyama answered tersely. He felt more than saw Hinata sulk, then added, “My dad’s home this week.”

“Oh! Yeah, you know,” he blew a raspberry, “Mine too.”

The familiar glimmer in his eyes vanished, his expression now peeved. Kageyama frowned. “Is that why you don’t want to go home?”

It was easy to forget that there was still a lot about Hinata he didn’t know. He’d be too attuned to Hinata’s presence, his voice and behaviors, to find a moment to question why they never spoke about their family.

He tried to imagine the sort of man Hinata’s father might have been, wondering if they both carried the same eccentricity and attitude. What kind of man was he to have fathered someone like Hinata? And what about his mother? Did he have any siblings, and if he did, how many? Who was the oldest? Did he have his own room or did he share with someone else? The questions were endless.

Kageyama couldn’t feel bad about not knowing. It just never came up. Family matters stayed family matters, hidden behind closed doors and drawn curtains. But he couldn’t stifle his growing curiosity—why _didn’t_ he want to go home?

Hinata grasped for the right words, “It’s complicated? Not really. It’s just…weird. I don’t know.”

They slowed down at the fork in the road. The calmness stopped with them, the air now humid instead of inviting. Hinata licked his lips. “I guess…”

“What?”

Hinata pursed his lips, eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he turned the grip on his handlebars. “You want to hang out tomorrow?”

_Oh._

Kageyama considered it, “You don’t want to stay in on a _Saturday_?”

Saturdays were always their days off—homework days, Ennoshita liked to remind them. It was rare for them to hang out on weekends if it wasn’t for practice. The mere suggestion seemed out of the blue.

“C’mon,” Hinata implored, shoulders dropping but a sly, mischievous grin growing on his face, “We can definitely bother the graduates tomorrow. Suga will get us free bubble tea, and Asahi knows exactly how you like it,” he goaded, blinking his big eyes up at Kageyama.

He was so weak when it involved free food. “Fine. But it would have to be after two.”

Hinata excitedly slapped a hand on Kageyama’s arm, only to pull back when the other boy flashed his teeth at him. “Yikes,” Hinata bit on his lower lip, cradling his hand. “Sorry,” he said, eyes crinkling.

Kageyama nodded sharply. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said lowly, adjusting the strap running across his chest.

“Okay, yeah. Tomorrow.”

Hinata lifted a leg over his bike and began slid back onto his seat. Just as he was adjusting the gear, Kageyama cleared his throat. Hinata cocked his head to the side, eyes wide and curious. Kageyama felt a flutter in his stomach. He was never good at this sort of thing.

“If--if anything, you know, you could—message me? If, you know. If you want, and if…” _If you want to talk about your dad,_ he wanted to say, but couldn’t. Hinata seemed to read his mind anyway.

“Thanks,” he said, eyes downcast. His fingers threaded through his hair, amber eyes meeting ocean blue, a grateful smile on his face. “I’ll message you, if anything,” he promised. “Let me know when you get home?”

He rolled his eyes, “That’s my line.”

“Well, I’m actually older than you, so whose line is it?”

Kageyama grasped his face, squished his cheeks, and pulled him closer. “Still mine.”

The two weren’t strangers to tight spaces, but under this moon the world spun differently. He could feel the heat of Hinata’s breath fanning over his dry lips, could feel the tips of their noses touching. There was a tingling and burning in his ears when Hinata glanced down at his open mouth. He blinked, and Hinata sputtered.

“Okay, okay, let go!” He pulled away just as Kageyama loosened his grip. Hinata massaged his warm cheeks, letting out a nervous chuckle. He stared holes into the handlebars of his bike and gripped them tightly, pushing his foot onto the pedal. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow. Night!”

“N-night.”

His feet were rooted in place. He watched Hinata disappear down the hill, then brought his hands back to his face and slapped his cheeks. He took a breath, dragged his fingers over his ears and groaned. He felt his lips twitch, and then came the warm feeling again, spreading through his chest and tossing around in his stomach. His feet moved quickly in the dark; maybe he’d be able to walk it off.

The sensation was similar to the thrill—the rush of adrenaline the moment his eyes sighted the ball, when Hinata was soaring and his fingertips warm after the curve of his back and the stretch of his arms sent it flying. Hinata’s hand came down like a whip, and his heart would skip a beat, until the ball slammed against the court and he felt the thumping in his ears, his veins, his heart. The feeling had the hair on his arms standing up.  

He skidded to a halt in front of his home. He pulled on the hem of his shirt, adjusted the strap of his bag and ruffled his own hair, as if it’d hide the way his eyes seemed to sparkle at the idea of tomorrow, at the split second of _almost_ he just had with Hinata.

Too lazy to fish for his keys, the boy gently knocked on the door. His forehead rested on the cool surface, effectively slowing down his thoughts as he waited for someone to open up and greet him. In the silence of the night, he could hear the murmur of the tall grass and the songs of crickets hiding in the thick of the earth, and usually, when it was quiet enough, he could hear the footsteps of his mother inside, her voice filtering through the door.

But he didn’t hear anything. He bent his foot and tightened his toes, then set both palms on the door and pressed his ear against it, straining himself to listen.

Still nothing.

He checked the windows. The kitchen light was still on, but the curtains were drawn and he couldn’t make out any shadows. Kageyama had guessed the situation, had probably already answered his own questions, but hope was to burn off. He wanted to be wrong; she could have been somewhere in the back of the house, or even upstairs.  

He knocked once more, sucking his teeth upon being met with silence, and harshly dug through his bag for his keys. They weren’t home. His mom promised and they weren’t even—

He kicked his shoes off. One of his socks slipped off in the process, but the anger and disappointment of coming to an empty home was more overwhelming than the awkwardness of a single naked foot.

He stomped towards the kitchen, eyes wandering over the table. He found a small container packed with rice, and another filled with what he could safely assume to be pork curry.  

He searched for anything else they might have left, but only counted the dirty dishes in the sink, the small basket of clean laundry set by the couch, and the little things that said, someone was here but now they’re not. He scanned the refrigerator.

There wasn’t a note this time.

His fingers were already smashing buttons on his phone after his stomach had lost its rage. He raced up the stairs, chucked the phone and his bag towards his bed, and kicked off his other sock, not caring about where it ended up. He shrugged off his sweater, pulled the cold, slightly drenched shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor. He needed a shower. Maybe his appetite would return after it, and maybe he’d have managed in washing away some of the anger still clouding his mind.

He seriously doubted it.

* * *

 

“You aren’t going to grow eating like that, Shōyō.”

Hinata carefully placed the last of the pickled carrots into his mouth, blinking owlishly at his father. He chewed slowly, his cheek resting on a weak fist. “I’m not all that hungry, anyway.”

“Are you feeling alright?” his mother inquired, setting down her chopsticks to study his face better. “I can make you some ginger tea after dinner.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine. Just not all that hungry.”

 He failed to notice the look of concern his mother and father shared, too busy picking at the last bit of rice in his bowl. He eyed Natsu, who was happily chomping away on a too-large spoonful of rice. He couldn’t help smiling at the specks of rice sprinkled around the corner of her mouth.

“C’mere, Natsu,” he beckoned, using his napkin to wipe her mouth clean. Her face scrunched up when he wiped underneath her chin. “You’re such a messy eater.”

“Because it’s so good,” she countered comically. He chuckled.

“You like it?”

Her eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously. “I love it,” she assured gravely.

Hinata snorted. He softly patted her head before resting his hand back on the table.

Plates of pickled vegetables, fried fish, and steamed rice lay before him, animating the aged cherry wood tabletop. The assortment was simple, and his mother’s cooking always delectable, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat. His stomach felt like houses being torn down, his throat forcing away the bile rising up every so often; sometimes his body would be reeling in these emotions, having him nauseous and ill for hours. He inhaled sharply, curled the chopsticks in his hand and took a small bit of rice into his mouth.

Chewing was becoming a chore.

He twirled his hair lazily, eyes falling to the phone lying by his feet. He had been praying for some sort of miracle, hoping someone would drag him out of this dinner ever since he left Kageyama where the road split.

His heart dropped. Kageyama…what was that today? He swore—

Hinata went rigid when the device vibrated loudly. A familiar name flashed across his screen, and his eyes lit up.

He dropped his chopsticks in favor of his phone, only to stop when he heard his father clear his throat.

“Is that a classmate?”

He felt his heart jump to his throat. He pushed it down, and tried to ignore the blinking light on his phone. “It’s one of the guys,” he started, reaching instead for his drink, “from the volleyball club.”

His father straightened as the words left Hinata’s mouth. “Oh, you’ve joined a club? That’s fantastic,” his father delivered a trying smile, but his lips just twitched under Hinata’s cold stare. “How’s it going?”

There it was—the sick churning of his stomach, like a witch’s cauldron. Hinata glanced at his mother, but she looked down at her food, stuffing her mouth with rice and fish. He didn’t even _know?_ How didn't he even _know?_

“I joined last year.”

The cup was loud touching the table. Natsu, hands laid by the edges of her plate, dipped her head at the sound. His mother hid her face, folding her hands over her lap.

“Oh…this would be—“

“My second-year as a regular, second time going to nationals, and second time winning,” he whisked his phone off the mat. “Please excuse me.” He tried to leave while his anger still fueled him. He should have known better than that.

“Shōyō,” his father warned. Hinata froze. “Finish your meal.”

Swallowing, shoulders hitched, he tightened his fist and the grip on his phone, and dropped himself back on the mat. His hand darted forward, fingers grasping silver chopsticks while the other came around the bowl brought it up to his face. He forced down the last of his rice, chomped so loud on the chunks of fish that there were pieces flying out.

He planted the empty bowl back in front of him. The chopsticks clattered as it fell against the table. Reaching for his drink, he pressed the glass firmly against his lips and swallowed hard. He set that down too, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He brought his palms together and bowed. “Thank you for the meal,” he said, and his father bristled, opened his mouth to speak but Hinata was already out of sight, sliding into his bedroom and toppling onto his futon.  

He bounced lightly, swiftly made a grab for his blanket and spread it, drawing it over himself. He’d press the floral pattern to his skin until his breath was steady and his chest not as hollow as it was moments before.

He curled within himself, hid underneath the blanket and flipped his phone open, squinting his eyes at the bright screen. He pressed his lips together and opened the unread message.

> **_Kageyama Tobio_ **
> 
> _You could have probably come over._
> 
> _7:42PM_

“Are you kidding me?” he mumbled, disgruntled. Hinata sent a flurry of exclamation points.

> **_Kageyama Tobio_ **
> 
> _Calm the fuck down, dumbass._
> 
> _They aren’t home even though they promised they would be._
> 
> _7:52PM_

Hinata frowned. His thumbs hovered over the keypad.

> _Are you saying we could have been practicing…this WHOLE TIME???_
> 
> _7:54PM_

 

> **_Kageyama Tobio_ **
> 
> _That’s exactly_
> 
> _What I’m saying._
> 
> _7:55PM_

Hinata huddled into the warmth of his blanket and cradled his pillow, his frown still prominent. He thought of his father, groaned at the knot tightening in his stomach, and his fingers moved by themselves.

> _Parents are lame, sometimes._
> 
> _7:57PM_

> **_Kageyama Tobio_ **
> 
> _Yeah._
> 
> _7:57PM_
> 
> _What can you do, though._
> 
> _7:59PM_

He let the phone fall from his hand with a loud sigh. What _could_ he do? He wanted to ask where he thought his parents went off to, wanted to complain until he ran out of words and the breathlessness put him to sleep. He never felt comfortable expressing his anxieties, had always felt like so many people had bigger issues, more important and so much worse. But for the first time, someone extended their hand and said it was okay—and it was Kageyama, nervous and stuttering because he was just as bad at talking about the personal things.

His cheeks warmed at the thought. No matter how loud Hinata was with his feelings, there were still things he couldn’t voice, or ever felt comfortable doing so, worried his words would be overlooked or dismissed. But Kageyama promised he’d lent him an ear, and for the first time in a while, knowing he had a shoulder to lean on had his stomach fluttering pleasantly.  

His phone vibrated again. He picked it up and read the message.

> **_Kageyama Tobio_ **
> 
> _I can email you the link to a game I’m watching._
> 
> _8:01PM_

His lips quirked up. For a second, he wished he was there watching with him, knowing the game would just…be better that way. The thought dissolved into an appreciative smile, and he replied instantly.

> _Let me grab my laptop._
> 
> _8:01PM_

* * *

 

Kageyama knocked out on his living room couch, with a blanket hanging off his waist and his head sandwiched between two pillows. His stomach growled, ravenous, his nose inhaling the scent of freshly steamed rice and boiled eggs. Images of Hinata drifted as soft humming pulled him out of sleep. He groaned, lifting the pillow away from his face, letting his eyes adjust to the sunlight pouring in from the nearby window. He extended his legs, yawning loudly before slowly getting up and following his nose. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, glaring harshly at the bleary figure stirring something over the stove. He blinked a couple of times, recognizing the dark hair and soft face to be his mother.

“Morning.”

She jumped. “Oh! Morning, Tobio,” she laid the big spoon on the counter, eyes shifting between Kageyama and the stove. “Sorry about last night, your father—“

“It’s fine,” he said, leaning his shoulder on the nearby wall. He was over it already. “Where is he?”

She hesitated, “He said he had an emergency call, but—but he did leave you something!” She lowered the heat of he assumed was porridge, brushed her hands off on the side of her thighs and shuffled towards the front door. Kageyama followed, his face blank.

His father always left him something after sudden disappearances.  

There was a bag sitting by the entrance. Picking it up, she handed it over to his waiting hands. Kageyama reached inside, his knuckles brushing over cardboard. He looped his finger through a hole on the side of the box, dropping the bag as he pulled it out.

Shoes.

He wasn’t entirely disappointed that he got shoes. He popped open the lid, revealing an impressive pair of black volleyball shoes.  

“Mizuno,” Kageyama commented, examining the stitching and fabric. “This is worn by a lot of Olympic volleyball players.”

“Your father thought you might like them,” his mother piped, a smile on her face.

He just would have been less disappointed if his father wasn’t absent. “Thank you.”

She folded her hands, looking up at him. She could only guess what he was thinking. “Alright, then, why don’t I serve you your food now? My growing boy needs to eat.”

A small beep erupted from the living room. Nodding at his mother, he jogged towards the sound. He searched for his phone and found it along the side of one of the cushions; and he thought he was calm and okay until the giddy butterflies danced and he read the text a second time.

> **_Hinata Shōyō_ **
> 
> _Good morning! I’ll meet you outside your house at 2, okay?_
> 
> _11:44AM_

“Tobio,” his mother called, “Your food’s ready, come and eat.”

His phone beeped again and another message popped up.

> **_Hinata Shōyō_ **
> 
> _See you soon!_
> 
> _11:45AM_

“Yeah,” he breathed, typing up a quick reply before padding over to his waiting mother. “Coming!”

She crossed her arms, eyeing him from head to toe. She took in the slight blush in his cheeks, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Someone looks a little less grumpy,” she remarked, watching him take his seat. Kageyama didn’t really hear her. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. 

She stared. “What—“

“Thank you for the food.”

The words caught in her throat at the sight of Kageyama devouring his breakfast. She visibly deflated, and sat down across from him. Even if she were to ask, Kageyama would never open up to her. Sighing helplessly, she poured him a glass of orange juice and set it in front of him. He drank half of it.

“As long as you don’t stop eating, I guess I won’t have to worry about you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. talk to me, but I'll just be thinking of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really, want to say thank you to those of you who took the time to read the first chapter. I haven't written fanfiction in so long, and I was so nervous about posting it up, and I'm just grateful for you guys who left kudos, and bookmarked, and commented, and I love you, I do, I love you so much. <3 
> 
> I feel like this took so much longer than it should have, and honestly I wish it was longer (I'm about 250 words short of what I wanted to write), but I hope y'all see quality > quantity. 
> 
> I love Sugawara a lot, actually, so it fucked me up when I realized that he was in a scene, and then I started writing him and didn't like how I was writing him because I felt like I couldn't get it right. I think I did better in my second try though. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Kageyama held a white-knuckled grip around the overhead metal bar as the bus came to a violent halt. The force of the stop had Hinata launching into his side, almost knocking him into the young woman seated in front of him. Kageyama had one hand slapped against the window, and the other wrapped above Hinata’s elbow as they both sent her the most apologetic smile they could muster; and then Kageyama gave Hinata _the look._

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said in his lowest voice.

“You _idiot_ ,” whispered Kageyama, “Your dumbass almost had me crushing someone.”

The doors of the bus opened then, and people started gathering towards the exit, bumping shoulders as the majority of the crowd pulled out of the bus. Hinata held onto Kageyama’s shoulder bag as they dismounted the vehicle, careful not to step on his shoes. His grip loosened upon reaching the steps, but as soon as his foot grazed concrete, Hinata fingered the strap and followed his partner down the street. Kageyama glimpsed curiously at him.

“Afraid you’ll get lost?”

Hinata’s lips twitched. “Aren’t we all a little lost in life?”

Kageyama stopped walking. Hinata collided with his hard back, hiding a laugh behind his hand. “I swear to God, you are the _dumbest—“_

Hinata threw his head back in boisterous laughter, fingers curling tightly around the strap of Kageyama’s bag, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _ow._ ”

His hands flew to pull off the fingers tightening around his head and tugging at his hair. He muttered apologies, nails digging underneath Kageyama’s tight grip. “Okay, okay, okay, let go, _please._ ”

He did. “I’m surprised there’s even anything in there.”

“Shut up,” Hinata frowned, his hands still covering his crown.

Kageyama hummed, hands shoved into the pockets of his navy blue sweater. He could still feel the soft, strawberry blond tufts of hair tickling his palm, silky smooth when they weaved between his fingers. He suppressed the urge to reach out again, because that was definitely _not_ an option, and forced his fists deeper into his pockets. He tried to appear bored.

“Do you remember where it is?” He watched the people around him aimlessly as the words left his lips.

Hinata flipped a switch in his mind, and bounced on his feet. He was on high alert. “Hang on.” 

Shielding his eyes from the blinding sun, Hinata scanned the area, searching for a familiar café. The duo had visited once before with the rest of the team in tow, escorted by their seniors before the start of the semester. The team was now a little over a month into the school year, and having had relied on the upperclassmen to lead the way for their first visit, Hinata only had a vague sense of where to look. It was a little difficult to figure out where exactly he should set his sights. There was too much going on.

He set his hands over his hips and huffed.

The outdoor mall was bustling—people scrambled in and out of stores, carrying large, stuffed bags, talking animatedly on their phones; couples walked in tandem, arms curled around each other, each far too wrapped up in their own bubble to notice anything or anyone else but each other. Flocks of teenagers took up entire sidewalks, crowding around benches and store corners while they fooled around and joked with each other. It was a normal scene, on a Saturday.

Hinata dragged his eyes over the same set of stores for the third time, until he finally took notice of a bubbly, neon banner.

“Found _Sapporo Bubble Tea_ ,” he beamed. He indicted the storefront and started walking towards the shop, Kageyama following closely at his side.

“Did you tell them we were coming?”

The taller boy watched Hinata conspicuously narrow his eyes, uncertainty written all over his face. “No...I thought we could, you know, surprise them?” He offered, index finger tapping his lower lip.

“What if they aren’t even in today?” Kageyama countered. He tried not to wonder about the softness of Hinata’s mouth against his own.

“They always work on Saturdays. They told us so!”

He grunted. “That doesn’t mean anything, stupid.”

“Well, maybe if someone reminded me—“

“You’re the one who asked _me_ to hang out,” Kageyama reminded, jabbing a finger into the smaller boy's chest. He felt a familiar hammering then, the speedy pump of his heart booming in his ears. He let Hinata push his finger away. “That should have been your responsibility.”

“But you know I’m forgetful sometimes, so,” Hinata started, and left it at that. They continued on their way until Kageyama’s eyes caught sight of the café.

 _Sapporo Bubble Tea_ was a small, cozy storefront, with a honey and cream striped awning stretching over its glass windows. Right above the door, at the edge of the awning, was a blue and purple neon sign that would liven up the night and illuminate the darkened streets, dancing with the blinking lights running down the rest of the block. Kageyama never traveled to the urban parts of Sapporo much, until the summer of his seniors’ graduation. Sugawara was the first to suggest the first trip of many, and Daichi, Kageyama noticed, had a debilitating weakness whenever it concerned the petit ash blond. He couldn’t refuse his vice-captain (and who could, honestly?). The team and their former members had all boarded the train and travelled down to a colorful bowling alley fifteen minutes away from the outdoor mall. When Kageyama stepped inside through the revolving doors, and saw the garish hamburger statues and pretty lights, for the first time he’d thought he wouldn’t mind going out at night, hanging out with others, walking around, just to see the pretty lights.

He couldn’t imagine what Tokyo at night must be like.

The duo quickly approached a glass door. Kageyama bit his cheek as he held the door open for Hinata, whose excitement had him practically bursting at the seams at the sight of Sugawara with his head pressed over the cold surface of the counter. He wore a thin black apron, tied back with a perfect bow Kageyama thought even Yachi might envy. He seemed warmly dressed underneath that, with his baby blue knit sweater rolled up over his elbows, and an off-white crew neck t-shirt poking out from his collar.

There was a golden bell sitting by the register. Hinata rang it three times.

“Suga-san!”

“Hm?” Sugawara groggily lifted his head, blinking up at the two before him. His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Hinata, Kageyama! I’m so glad to see you, what a surprise!”

For as busy as it appeared outside, the café was relatively quiet. The walls were a charming bleached-wood paneling, and the gentle amber bulbs felt like turning on the lights after coming home. There were only two tables within the café, small and round, but not too uncomfortable. Kageyama imagined that even if the shop were to get congested, the ambiance would calm even the rowdiest of crowds.

Sugawara glided over to the end of the counter and unhooked the small door. Hinata’s eyes sparkled when the older boy stretched out his hand and began patting his head.

“Did you get taller?” Sugawara teased, chuckling softly. He placed a hand on Kageyama’s shoulder and squeezed. His eyes widened by a fraction, and Kageyama’s eyebrows twitched. “Wow, someone’s been working out.” He poked his finger down Kageyama’s arm and gasped. “How did you get these, huh?”

Too embarrassed to answer, Kageyama looked the other way and shrugged. 

“I actually did get taller,” Hinata announced proudly. His smile grew wider under Sugawara’s gaze. Kageyama felt weird about it. “Two whole centimeters.”

He coughed into his fist. “I think he was just wearing extra pairs of socks,” Kageyama stated, avidly avoiding the fist that came flying at him.

Sugawara’s jovial laugh drew Asahi out from the back of the store. He only looked messy—his hair was pulled back in a loose bun, flannel shirt unbuttoned and folded just below the elbows; he wore a simple, fitted v-neck shirt underneath. He had an attractive scruff growing in, and yeah, Kageyama could at least admit it to himself, Asahi was difficult _not_ to look at. Where Sugawara had gone angelic and sweeter, Asahi had gone rugged and sharper.

The only neat thing about him was the black apron casted over the outfit he must have thrown together that morning—Hinata and Kageyama were certain Sugawara had something to do with the perfect bow behind his back.

“I knew I heard familiar voices,” he said, coming towards them and greeting the two. He navigated behind Sugawara to loiter around the row of silver and black machines. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Would you guys like a drink?”

Sugawara’s shoulders jerked suddenly, as if he had just remembered something important. “That’s right—we just finished rush hour. Asahi, you know their orders, right?” He smiled upon receiving a nod. “It’s on the house,” Sugawara winked.

Hinata purposefully bumped against Kageyama and sent him a sly smile. He moved to the front of the counter, where he rested his elbows and watched Asahi prepare the tea.

Kageyama tried to keep his eyes off the arch of Hinata’s back. “Where’s Daichi-san?” he asked.

“Daichi’s doing a run, right now,” answered Asahi, voice warm, “but he should be back soon.”

“Oh.”

“Uhm…” Asahi swallowed thickly, tapping his fingers over the machine, “H-how’s Nishinoya?”

Sugawara giggled into his hand, ignoring Asahi’s mortified look.

“He’s doing well! I’m not sure if he mentioned anything about attending university yet,” Hinata answered. He shrugged, “He hasn’t come by?”

“Not since school started back up again. We do still talk every now and then, though.”

Kageyama nodded sagely, “Practice has been rough. Ukai-san is relentless.”

"He means well, I'm sure," Asahi assured, his expression becoming unreadable just then.

Sugawara braced his elbows on the counter and rested his cheek on an open palm, smiling cutely. “So, tell us, how’s the team doing so far?”

“Yes,” Asahi piped up as he set to brew the tea. He spoke with an open smile. “How’s the ace-in-training?”

Hinata did most of the talking. Watching the way his arms moved when he talked, the way his hands and fingers zipped through the air when he told of their practice match against Nekoma, Kageyama couldn’t help but compare Hinata’s speaking to a theatrical performance. He was dramatic, exaggerating his memories but accurately conveying the feeling of the moment. He briefly wondered if Hinata talked so animatedly over the phone as well, waving his arms around even if there was no one to see him.

The two employees frowned when Hinata had told them Karasuno had lost. Kageyama wasn’t surprised when they had lost--they weren’t the only team getting stronger after every practice.

Asahi set their orders before them before reaching for two fat straws and handing one to each. He pushed his hips against the edge of the counter, crossed his arms, and smiled as he nodded for Hinata to continue.

Sugawara was glad to hear that Yamaguchi’s serves had only gotten scarier after their first year. Tanaka was their current ace—it was hard to say if his spikes were just as powerful, or even more powerful, than Asahi’s. Tsukishima’s blocking, though nothing like the iron wall, seemed to be in the early stages of something both powerful and crippling. Nishinoya moved like lightning—he kept the ball up, kept the connection flowing, the play going, until they scored. Asahi’s chest puffed up at that.

The team was coming into its own at an alarming rate. On top of it all, Ennoshita was an exceptional and reliable captain, and reminded them of Daichi—perhaps a little too much. He was scary because they had never seen him angry before. Kageyama knew he sure as _hell_ didn’t want to.

“Kageyama always scares the first-years, though,” Hinata threw in, smiling when said boy pouted. “It’s okay, though. We know there’s no killer intent behind that smile,” Hinata grinned, and Kageyama drew his head back, eyeing the bubbles in his plastic cup.

“Ahh,” Asahi rubbed the back of his neck. “I know the feeling, Kageyama. Don’t take it the wrong way.”

Kageyama would be lying if he said he was actually offended that the first-years found him scary. None of them were current starters, and had a tremendous amount of improvement to do. Their height—one was as tall as Tsukishima—would be an asset to the team once they were good enough to stand on the court.

He had, admittedly, sent them glares for being too obnoxious during practice. His pout shouldn’t be enough to deter them from playing the sport.

“That’s how he weeds out the weak ones,” Hinata hinted, wrapping his lips around the straw and sipping the jelly lingering at the bottom of his drink.

Sugawara giggled, “Is that so?”

“It’s just my face,” Kageyama insisted quietly.

They continued to talk for a couple of minutes, until a cool breeze entered the store and in came Daichi, marching through the door holding bags of tapioca pearls and cream. After passing the bags over to Asahi, he threw his arms over his juniors’ shoulders, bringing them in close and grinning wide. Sugawara’s eyes softened at the sight.

“Let’s take a picture. Asahi!”

They gathered behind the counter. Sugawara’s phone screen was a tight fit, but they made it work, with their cheeks tightly pressed against each other and their smiles bright and genuine.

They spent a few more minutes catching up until the breeze came through again, and two girls with too-large shopping bags waltzed in. Sugawara gave them an apologetic smile before taking a step behind the cash register.

“Let us know when you have a game coming up, yeah?” Daichi tossed them some hard candies as the duo dragged themselves away from the counter. A group of teenagers entered the café. Suddenly the place seemed too small.

“We will,” Hinata promised. “See you again soon!”

“Take care.”

* * *

Hinata was hardly ever quiet. They shared silences, when they didn’t need words to enjoy each other’s company. But Kageyama caught the slump in Hinata’s shoulders, how they fell just a little bit lower, how they caused his arms to go stiff against his sides. There wasn’t a bounce in his step, or a hum on his lips. He looked…

He looked kind of _sad_.

Hinata shivered, then zipped up his sweater. The sun was setting over the horizon but the night’s chill came early, tickling his neck and raising the hair on his arms. Kageyama suggested they go home before it gets too dark out.

The bus stop was a few ways down from the sports store they just left. They walked without a rush, arms brushing every so often.

 “Cold?” Kageyama pursed his lips, his own sweater still open. He didn’t feel the chill as much.

Hinata crinkled his nose. “Just a little.”  

They’d spent the entire day at the mall, wasting a ridiculous amount of time inside a bookstore, flipping through sports magazines and health guides. Kageyama lingered by the manga section while Hinata disappeared into another aisle, claiming he was headed to the bathroom. He pretended not to notice Hinata’s bag coming back just a little bit bigger.

“What are you doing when you get home?” Hinata spoke with his head down.

Kageyama shrugged. “I don’t know yet.” He kept his eyes on him, frowning when he noticed Hinata’s frown. “What’s up with you?”

“What? Nothing,” Hinata straightened, but he kept his head down. “Nothing.”

Kageyama’s mind went back to the night before, to how Hinata didn’t want to go home and wanted to stay out, and just be anywhere, anywhere else. He pondered his sudden change in mood. Did it have anything to do with that? Hinata seemed so happy talking with the others, and even after that when it was just the two of them. But now they were on their way home, preparing to part ways; he really, really didn’t want to end the day with Hinata being depressive. He swallowed thickly, and steeled himself. “You know you can talk to me, right? Holding it in does nothing.”

“I _know_ that,” he shot back, then scrunched up his face like he’d tasted something gross. “Sorry. I’m just…I don’t know.”

“It’s okay.” And it was. Kageyama wouldn’t press the issue if Hinata didn’t want to open up. This would never be an issue of trust. They had that.

Hinata didn’t appear to be satisfied with his answer though. “ _No._ I just don’t know how to say it without sounding dumb.”

“You already sound dumb half the time you talk to me,” Kageyama assured with a wry drawl, “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“You’re such an ass,” Hinata smiled, and Kageyama relaxed. His shoulders loosened a bit as he walked, and yeah, that was a little bit more like Hinata.

They didn’t speak for a long moment. Hinata pressed his lips together, then peeked up at him. “My dad leaves tomorrow.”

Kageyama didn’t respond.

“It’s not…” he huffed, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth. “It’s…weird, having my dad home when he gets his time off. Because I understand that he’s gone because he’s working hard, and he loves us, and my mom always tells us, you know, ‘Your dad is working really hard to support us’, but yesterday…” Hinata’s voice sounded breathy. He inhaled sharply, “You know, he’s gone for months, but it’s suddenly okay if he starts acting like a dad once we’re all in the same room. And it’s just—he didn’t—he didn’t even know I was on a volleyball team! It was like, news to him, like, _wham,_ your son is on the volleyball team! It shouldn’t have been news. Did he forget? I know I told him. I get it, I don’t get to talk to him often. When I do it’s only for a few minutes, but I’ve told him before, I always tell him the most important things. But the most important…” his voice came out broken then. Kageyama made sure not to look. “Why didn’t he remember? It’s so easy.”

Hinata’s eyes were watery. He tried to blink away the tears, but just ended up wiping at his cheek, whispering soft curses when he couldn’t stop a tear from rolling down. He felt lucky that it was just one tear.

The atmosphere felt dense. Kageyama didn’t speak for fear of not saying the right thing. He wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, draw him close into his chest, but he didn’t. He could just be there. He gave Hinata time to recover, and waited for him to speak again.

When he did, it wasn't about himself anymore.

“What about you?” Hinata sniffed, and Kageyama blinked his eyes at him, still trying to figure out what to say, how to comfort and reveal the sunbeam hidden behind stormy clouds. “What about your dad?”

They arrived at an empty bus stop. Kageyama quickly looked over the schedule. The next bus wasn’t due for another twenty minutes, allowing the two more time for them to finally talk. They leaned against the railing, Kageyama with his arms folded over his chest, and Hinata hiding his hands in his pockets.

Kageyama looked down, licking his lips. “My father,” he hesitated, searching his mind for the right phrase, “is absent.”

Hinata stared blankly. “You’re not getting away with just that— _ow.”_

“I wasn’t _done._ ” Feeling bold, he let his hand fall down over Hinata’s shoulder. Hinata moved in closer. Kageyama bit his cheek, his palms suddenly starting to sweat.

“I’m sorry,” Hinata apologized. He gave him an encouraging smile.

Kageyama squeezed his shoulder as a way of saying he accepted his apology. He opened his mouth to speak again.

“He works overseas too, just like yours.” He shifted uncomfortably, hesitating before speaking again. “I’m not very good with words—don’t laugh, dumbass. But. He’s not good with words either. Our conversations are short. He doesn’t know how to talk to me.” Kageyama stopped in his tracks. He was too aware of how Hinata perfectly fit in the crook of his arm, the quiet sniffles too close to his ear. “You think back to when we were kids, and everything was easier. Our parents could make up for lost time by buying our favorite toys, or spending a couple of hours with us. But we get older, and gifts don’t make up for short phone calls that only get shorter.”

 “And a couple of hours don’t make up for milestones missed.” Kageyama stiffened at the feel of a soft cheek pressed against his side. His lips wobbled between an anxious smile and an excited grin. He whipped his head around, watching the smaller groups of people walk up and down the streets, multiple bags in hand, faces either exhausted or content. He could feel amber eyes on him, questioning, wondering if this was okay, if it was going really far, if he felt uncomfortable—and he wanted to say it was okay, that he wanted to take it a whole lot farther if he really wanted to know, that this really wasn’t uncomfortable, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

Hinata gently pulled Kageyama’s arm over his head, an uneasy smile on his face. Kageyama couldn’t stop himself from frowning. “Sorry,” Hinata said quietly.

He shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said, but his voice came out strangled. Hinata worried his bottom lip.

“I’ve never talked about this to anyone before,” Hinata admitted softly. “I never really felt like I could.”

Their eyes met again, and the anxiety was gone. All that was left was a shared moment of genuine empathy, the realization that the two of them weren’t at all as different as they’ve always thought themselves to be. In each other’s eyes they saw the only words they’ve wanted to know existed for them. _I understand. I’m here._

“Yeah.” Kageyama kicked himself off the rail. “Me neither.”

“You hardly ever talk to _begin_ with.”

Kageyama grumbled begrudgingly as he leaned back against the railing, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah.”

He stumbled when the smaller boy playfully shoved him. Kageyama was giving him a strange look, to which Hinata just shrugged, smiling fondly. “I don’t know. I didn’t expect this from you.”

Not knowing what else to do, Kageyama rolled his eyes. “Sorry?”

“No.” Hinata ran his fingers through his hair, gliding down and resting on the crook of his neck. “…Thank you.”

Kageyama couldn’t ignore the tingling in his cheeks, the warmth spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. His eyes shifted and stared holes into his shoes while he wiggled his toes, willing himself to keep calm and cool. “Yeah. Anytime.”

* * *

Practice over the next week was brutal. Every night saw Kageyama dragging his feet home, thoughts whirring along with the sound of Hinata’s bike. On the rare occasions the team wouldn’t stop for pork buns after volleyball practice, Kageyama’s exhaustion would disguise his hunger. Instead he’d wake up in the morning with a raging stomach and monstrous appetite. The growling had him thinking he could actually _die_ from it.

Getting through the day was worse—twice, Hinata had finished his meal (twice, the dishes had been unusual, and definitely not Japanese—but Hinata forced a spoonful of whatever it was inside Kageyama’s mouth, and his taste buds sang with a demand for more), and twice, Hinata had settled next to him underneath their usual tree, shut his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

The last time Hinata napped on his shoulder, Tanaka and Nishinoya laughed into their hands when the two second-years entered the gymnasium after their last class. The libero and ace kept their eyes on the duo until Kageyama’s twitching brow started tugging at his lip too.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?”

Tanaka just laughed louder, hands crossed over his stomach and gripping his sides. He was trying to hold it together, he really was. He took a deep breath and calmed down enough to promise that he would explain later, moving to give Kageyama a hard slap on the back. “Don’t worry about it, Kageyama. I’ll show you after practice.”

The issue? Practice couldn’t end fast enough. Hinata missed three serves, and after Kageyama scolded him for the umpteenth time that night, only Nishinoya’s sniggering seemed enough to carry the ball over the net enough times to satisfy the coach and avenge Hinata’s embarrassment. After another hour of running laps, burpees, and holding squats, Ukai dismissed the team, keeping behind two first-years for an extra practice session. Yachi left ahead of the team, excusing herself and explaining she had a project she wanted to finish by the end of next week.

It was a matter of time before the boys were all gathered in the clubroom. Kageyama wondered if he should have brought up the issue with Tanaka again, but quickly shook his head when the stench of teenage boy sweat caught up with him.

He pulled off his shirt and threw the soaked fabric over his shoulder, popping off the lock on his locker and sorting through it to retrieve his uniform. He caught Tanaka flipping his phone shut from the corner of his eye, and suddenly there was a chorus of _beeps_ bouncing from locker to locker.

Kageyama felt his heart drop.  

His head jerked at the sound of Hinata stuttering, and Kageyama watched, standing numb, his finger loosely dangling in the small niche inside the locker, the deep red color Hinata’s face so deep, he had to wonder if the smaller boy actually blew a fuse. He choked back the wariness and rushed into his bag, desperately searching for his phone. He gripped the device with shaky, sweaty fingers, and counted to three. He ignored Yamaguchi’s giggle.

Kageyama flipped open his phone, saw the picture, then flipped it shut.

He hid his face in his locker and tensed at the sound of Nishinoya snickering behind him.

“What’s the matter, Kageyama? No need to be embarrassed.”

Hinata’s whine reached his ears, and he hid deeper inside of his locker, if that was even possible. 

“A freak can only sleep with other freaks, it seems,” commented Tsukishima, and he seemed to realize his own words, because he paused in the middle of pulling on his school sweatshirt and hardly even tried to stifle his own laughter.

The loud _bang_ of Hinata running his head into his locker only had Tanaka and Nishinoya laughing _even louder,_ much to his embarrassment. Kageyama slid his arms into his locker and hid his head underneath them, covering his blushing ears to block out another one of Hinata’s distressed whines. 

Kageyama wanted to die. Dying would do him so, _so_ many favors.

Tanaka sputtered. Or maybe he was choking, because, “Holy shit, who forwarded it to Ukai-san?”

Why, why, why wasn’t he already dead? The ordeal had Hinata and Kageyama speeding home, stumbling over their goodbyes and rushing to go their own separate ways. 

It was so embarrassing. It was, so, so embarrassing, but something _did_ come out of it.

Later, he’d look at the picture on his phone again.

He would feel his heart thundering, practically leaping out of his chest while he studied the soft expression on the smaller boy’s sleeping face, the gentle curve of his open mouth, the texture of his hair pressed against his side and he’d moan into the palm of his hand, almost like a desperate cry when he’d slide his other hand down his boxers and wrap his fingers around his dick. His muscles would tense under his grip; his breath would catch in his throat. He would never question how or why it was this one _boy_ who left him gasping softly into the darkness of his room, slowly working his way into madness after his steady rhythm became a little more erratic, a little more eager, and he could only really think—

_Hinata, Hinata, Hinata, God, I want you_

\--until he felt the coiling in his belly and sped up, his toes curling into the wrinkled bed sheets and his mind transcending onto an alternate, ethereal plane.

He’d lie there. Breathless, sticky, euphoric, and guilty.

The cold sweat would be hitting him a few moments after his high, and he’d look at his forgotten phone, the picture still on the screen, bright and accusing.

It was gross. He felt gross. He was _disgusting._

Kageyama forced himself off the bed. He reached for a couple of tissues by his desk, and wiped at his fingers, dabbing the soiled cloth over parts of stomach and thigh. He wrapped it in another tissue, and tossed it in his trashcan.

He showered right after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys want more updates and stuff, you can follow me on telracsactually.tumblr.com, I love talking about these nerds. Thank you for reading!


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